#r:pg13

[ghoulcyfics]

companion tolerates you by sharkie

summary: lucy ponders her mother's love life and the death of america. or: lucy exhausts every available dialogue option and fumbles an early flirt attempt. teen / oneshot / no warnings apply

[chilligyu]

info: wen junhui/reader, teen+, soulmate au genre: angst, romance | word ct: 2k warnings: descriptions of injuries, scars, blood, hospitals summary: forever was a powerful word, and it was the only word he could think of when he imagined his soulmate. someone who was just as powerful as she was terrifying. because forever was a powerful word, and it scared him to no end. author's note: please read! this soulmate au deals with soulmarks in the form of injuries. once someone turns 18 their body will be marked with their soulmates scars and they will acquire all of their future injuries (i know it's a little confusing, story explains it better). if talks of scars and blood make you uncomfortable, respectfully, this fic will not be your cup of tea. thank you all!

Forever. Never, in all of Junhui’s life, had he heard a more terrifying word. He hated the permanency of it, the idea of being stuck doing one thing, being with one person. The thought of it alone made his skin itch. He loved being able to get on a train and go absolutely anywhere, loved never being tied down, loved being free. Sometimes he didn’t even know where home was, where he’d be sleeping, and that’s when he was most happy. He couldn’t explain it, nor did he want to.

What scared him most, was what he was destined for, what forever truly meant for him. For years he was told how his life would change, how it would never be the same once he became an adult. And he believed them. No matter how much he hated it, he’d have to be delusional not to. Because he’d been watching it play out on his skin since he turned 18. He’d been watching his body pucker with scars, little nicks here and there, for the better part of four years. A thin line across the back of his hand, a surgical scar on his stomach, it was so nerve-wracking. Because he hadn’t been injured.

His soulmate had, and he was a first-hand witness.

That was the sad existence he was left with, the one he’d been running from for years. He lived in a world where everyone was covered in the injuries and scars of their soulmate. Your body wasn’t a canvas of your own life, it was the story of someone else’s. And God Junhui hated that more than anything. That his life wasn’t his own anymore and there was nothing he could do about it.

It all became real for him when he came home from school on his 18th birthday. He shouldered off his bag and was getting ready to shower when he saw the bright pink mark on his stomach. A little thing, only two inches in length, half an inch wide, almost completely negligible. At first, he was confused, then scared, and finally—mortified.

No. He said to himself as he inspected the scar. Please tell me this is a lie.

For years he stared at his own body, repulsed and confused by the injuries that kept cropping up. His friends would laugh at the little marks, claiming that his soulmate was a complete klutz. Still, he refused to acknowledge it. He didn’t care what sort of scar showed up on his body, he refused to care. He refused to think about the one person who was tied to his entire existence. No matter what they were going through. He didn’t care when the eight inch gash appeared on his arm, nor did he care when he saw the surgical scar sprawled across his knee. It was just skin, scar tissue and skin. It didn’t mean anything.

Or that’s what he tried to convince himself.

Sometimes, if the injury was bad enough, he would even feel the pain from it. One day he was walking to work, and suddenly he was struck by an intense migraine. The throbbing alone was enough to make him want to puke. The world was spinning, he could barely feel the ground underneath his feet when he caught his reflection in a store window. His eyebrow had split open, a single trickle of blood streaking his face.

What happened? He found himself wondering despite himself. Are they—are they okay?

Before that moment, he had never actually bled from one of his soulmate’s wounds. And it terrified him. He had only seen the injuries once they’d healed, meaning that the danger, and pain, was over. That little bead of blood meant—meant that this was real. That on the other side of his scars was a real person. He hated forever, he hated the word, hated the meaning, hated what he was forced to endure because fate had better plans for him.

But still, he couldn’t help but wonder. And that was harmless, right?

Going to the doctor after that was interesting, because he had to get a full body X-Ray to see what sort of damage his new body had endured. Standard protocol when you turned 18, he’d just been putting it off for as long as he could. Injuries from his soulmate's childhood were clear against the backlight, several broken bones from when they were young, or reckless, or both. Without realizing it, Junhui found himself smiling at the sight. It was sort of comforting, knowing that he’ll always have this part of someone else. That it’ll never leave him.

He gingerly touched each wound and tried to imagine the story behind them. There was this one right up his shin, very old, very faded, it reminded him of the one time he fell off his bike as a kid. Maybe he had something in common with his soulmate. Maybe they had a similar past. He had no idea, but it was fun to wonder.

For periods of time, Junhui wouldn’t accumulate any new marks, and he felt lonely. He pretended like he didn’t, he continued on as he usually did. A string of flings and drunken escapades kept him busy, but they just—they weren’t as fun anymore. Car rides with no destination, late nights underneath the stars, the things he loved most no longer held the same weight. He felt stupid, selfish, wishing for some sign of his soulmate. Because that meant that they’d have to get hurt for it to happen.

And then, he thought he lost them.

He was getting set up for a gig, plugging in his mic and laughing with the stagehands, when he felt his life flash before his eyes. Like he’d been crushed by a car. The pain was so excruciating, he was finding it hard to breathe. Collapsing to the floor, he could’ve sworn that he saw a bright light above him. Tears streaked his face, his stomach churned like the red sea—he thought he was dying. He had no idea what was going on, until—until he realized that he was fine. That his soulmate—that his soulmate might’ve—

Pulling up his shirt, he watched a deep gash form on his stomach and a deep bruise color his whole abdomen. Propping himself up onto his elbows, he instantly fell back to the ground. Looking at his arm, he noticed the swelling. He was being covered in bruises, several of his bones were broken, and he only had one thought on his mind.

I have to find them.

He managed to get to his feet, finding his right leg weaker than he remembered, and he practically sprinted out of the bar. Pulling out his phone, he started searching every news site he could think of, looking for any news of any sort of car crash. Of any sort of accident.

Every few minutes or so, he’d check to make sure that his scars were still there. That his soulmate hadn’t left him. Because that’s what everyone truly fears, and the one thing Junhui has grown to fear more than forever. When you slowly see your soulmate's scars clear up, when your skin is your own once more, it means one of two things.

Either you’ve found your soulmate, or your soulmate is dead.

Please stay alive. He found himself begging, finally catching word of a couple car accidents in the past day. He scrolled through them, scrolled through the pictures of victims, desperately trying to find them. Dozens of faces blurred past his vision, and he finally stopped at a picture of a young woman. A woman with a small scar on her chin, just like the cut Junhui got when he was a kid and banged his chin on a coffee table.

After years of denying her existence, he had finally found his soulmate. For a brief moment, he was caught in some sort of trance, completely awestruck by the person who was a permanent part of his life. She was beautiful, perfect, everything he had ever dreamed of and feared all at once. It broke his heart, knowing that it took her getting hit by a car for him to find her.

When he figured out which hospital she was taken to, he hailed a cab and paid him extra to get him there as fast as he could. As he rode, he read the article more thoroughly, reading about how she was hit by a drunk driver, how she was in critical condition, and how she was in a medically induced coma. He had to fight back tears, knowing that she might not make it.

Arriving at the hospital, he showed the front desk her picture, desperate to find her any way that he could. They confirmed that she was there, that she had just got out of surgery. They kept telling him that only family could see her, that he’d have to wait until she was out of the ICU, and a million other things that he didn’t give a damn about. He had to see her.

“She’s my soulmate.” He whispered, trying not to lose it. “Please, please, let me see her.”

Even though the nurses were conflicted, they eventually let him in. Thanking them quickly, he sprinted down the hall to her room, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t lose her. Not before she was even a part of his life. Not before he could even tell her how important she was to him. He hadn’t even met her yet, and yet if she died – then his life would be over.

He slowed down as he got closer, his heart beating in his ears. She was just a few doors down, she was so close, he could feel it deep down inside. As he stood outside her door, he tried to calm himself down, he inhaled and exhaled, attempting to stabilize the raging storm inside of him.

Mentally preparing for the worst he reached for the door handle, his entire arm shaking. He was fully aware that she wouldn’t even realize he was there, that she’d be lying catatonic in a hospital bed with tubes and wires hooked up to her. He didn’t care. It was still an important moment in his life. He was about to meet his soulmate for the first time.

Turning the handle, he felt his heart stop when he saw her. Even though the actual sight of her broke his heart, something he couldn’t explain started to stir inside of him. Like—like his entire existence led him to this point. And while that thought alone would’ve terrified him not too long ago, it now gave him a purpose to strive towards. He wouldn’t run from this.

He approached her carefully, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. As he sat there, he watched as the little scars across his knuckles started to disappear, and saw them reappear on her. Unconsciously, he started to check on every single scar on his body, finding himself frowning as they vanished from his skin. He would’ve preferred to bare them, knowing that they wouldn’t mar her beautiful body. And he’d miss the proof that she was meant to be with him. Fate determined that they were meant to be together, and for the first time—he accepted that. Because he finally learned that alone was a far more terrifying word than forever.

“I don’t care how long it takes.” He whispered, taking her hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[bangtanfancamp]

𝟹. 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎: Everyone Starts Somewhere

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✃ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

✃ 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

✃ 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

✃ 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝚃𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚡 𝚘𝚌

✃ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1k

✃ 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚙𝚐-𝟷𝟹

✃ 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏, 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚋𝚏𝟸𝚕, 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗, 𝚎𝚝𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚞

✃𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍 𝟷𝟿 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚌, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

✃ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: after weeks of prep and research, it’s finally shop opening day. Cue the nerves. Good thing you’ve got your best friend beside you.

✃ 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: chronologically this chapter falls a few weeks after the events of the blurb “entirely caught off guard by you” but a few weeks prior to “soothe these tired bones.” The handmade series doesn’t necessarily need to be read in order, but it is helpful. ♡

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“Are we really doing this?” Your wide eyes flit up to his as your finger hovers above the enter key.

“We’re really doing this,” Taehyung nods resolutely. His hand laces over top of yours, the pressure of it making you both tap the button together, and without another word, it’s done.

“It’s official. Our shop is now live….” you lean back in your cognac chair, eyes a bit dazed as you scroll listlessly over the ten images the two of you have spent the last month and a half agonizing over. “Should we have picked a different name?” You look up at him, worried.

“Absolutely not.” The set of his brows is firm, he’s not going to let you talk yourself out of this again. But his eyes, those warm sweet mocha eyes are as kind as ever. When he catches you staring, he smiles and sets his large hands to gently massaging your too tight shoulders. “Mercy, woman. We haven’t even made a sale yet. How do you already have the tension of a 60 year CEO?”

“Talent, I suppose,” you shrug flippantly, a heavy sigh floating from your lips. Your fingers cover his and squeeze, searching for the kind of comfort only your best friend could give. “This is a good idea right? We won’t regret this? It’s just… we’ve put so much work into it. So much time. What if it—“

“Shh. We’ve talked about this.” Taehyung has pulled your chair back from the table, coming to hold your hands properly as he squats in front of you. He is entirely too tall for this, but it’s comforting nonetheless so you don’t fight it. He looks directly in your too wide eyes and smiles. It’s the sort of smile a parent makes at their child who’s scared of a monster that isn’t really there. “I didn’t decide to do this with you just because you were the only person around, you know.”

A quick head tilt and a scoff on your end have him chuckling again. “This is your pep talk? I think I felt better before.” Your incredulous brow is lifted as your eyes fall away from his.

“It would be if you’d stop interrupting, silly.” One of his long fingers taps you on the nose, and you fight back the grin blooming on your lips.

“It hasn’t even been open ten minutes yet, give it some time. We’ve got this. We’re just going to try. That’s all this is remember— our first try. If it goes well, that’s incredible. If it doesn’t, we regroup. But if it doesn’t take off right away, it’s not because you and I aren’t talented, got it?”

Your eyes still won’t meet his as you nervously chew your lip. Signing, he grips your chin and tugs your face toward him. “Look at me. Got it?”

Those big brown eyes of his always look so calm, so certain. You wonder if anything can shake him. You’d hate to see how fearsome a thing would have to be rattle Taehyung. The thought makes you shiver then sigh.

He’s still looking at you expectantly, you realize. His fingers are still lingering on your skin. His elbow still leans on your knee. And you still need to remember to breathe.

“Okay.” It comes out as a heavy exhale through your nose. You aren’t certain about this at all. It had seemed so much easier in the abstract as a simple idea floating between you and Taehyung one dreadfully boring quarantine afternoon. But now it was real. There were real hopes and dreams and time and money you didn’t have to waste invested in this now. Taehyung is capable. No one would ever doubt that. You were the one you were worried about. What if no one bought the things you two were selling ? What if you weren’t talented enough to keep up if they did? What — “ow! What was that for?”

Startled, you press a soothing palm to your now radiating forehead. Taehyung had just soundly thumped you between the brows, and if his body language tells you anything, he is entirely unapologetic about it. “I know you, you’re tearing this to shreds in your head before it’s even really started...c’mon. We’ve got this. We’re us. We’re y/n and Taehyung. It’s going to work. Somehow. Promise.” His smile makes his eyes crinkle. It’s adorable and endearing and makes you feel slightly less murderous about the bump you assume is forming between your eyes.

He stands to his feet, brushing non existent dust from the thighs of his wide leg slacks. He’s got a white, vintage led zeppelin tee cuffed and tucked into the narrow waist of his camel dress pants, as usual looking entirely too effortless for anyone two and a half months into quarantine. You’d be tempted to be jealous of his never ending state of good dress if it didn’t bode so well for your business.

Graciously, He extends an open palm to help pull you up before scooping you into one of his trademark bear hugs. It’s warm there, pressed to his chest like this. It’s hard to complain while this thoroughly soothed and he knows it. That’s why it’s his favorite method of shutting you up. Or as he much more gently puts it, soothing your nerves. He smells cozy like the tonka bean cologne he bought in Paris last summer. The one he only wears on the most special of occasions. Which, you suppose today is. He buries his cheek into the dense cloud of your messy bun and squeezes all your protests away as his forearms grip beneath the set of your ribs. When he holds you like this, it’s impossible to fight his optimism. So you don’t.

“Is it really going to be okay?” You murmur. The words float between you, hovering so long you think the cotton of his tshirt has absorbed them. He inhales as he prepares to reply, his chest rising, lifting your cheeks along with it when the sudden ding of a tiny bell has both of you whipping your heads around to look at your laptop.

There, in the corner of your screen. Your first order has come through— one cream canvas tote bag and a set of pearl earrings.

Your eyes flash glazed and teary up at him, only to find his fond gaze already watching you. It’s tender and warm, and you feel his shoulders give in and drop as he holds you. You realize then that he’d been holding his breath too. He’d been as nervous as you, but chose positivity and comforting you instead. You’re touched. A happy tear glistens on your cheek as you realize you couldn’t have picked a more perfect teammate to pursue your dreams with. Wrapping your arms around his narrow waist, you give him a strong, substantial squeeze before nuzzling safely back into the center of his chest.

“You were right, Tae,” you sniffle. “We’ve got this.”

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[chansooficrecs]

Home (and the People who Make It)

title: Home (and the People who Make It)

author: cairistiona13

pairing: Chanyeol/Kyungsoo

word count: 35.1k

rating: pg-13

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: past character death, mentioned dubcon, military homophobia, underage drinking, implied/referenced underage sex, dubious morality, car accidents

summary: Roommates/Single Parent AU. At 24 years old, Chanyeol learns that he has a daughter, and everything changes—for both him and his flatmate and best friend Kyungsoo. .

- Admin Daichi

[circleroomrec]

Title: beneath the blue sky, this skyline (say lalalalala) Author: sheepishfiction Pairing: Taehyung/Jimin Chapters: 1/1 (12k words) Rating: PG-13 Genre: Romance Summary: Because New York City is the place to find yourself, and maybe somebody else too.

Comments: Holyyyy shittttt. This fic was incredible from beginning to end and the chemistry between Jimin and Taehyung in this was so good that I really want more. Really really badly. This fic was so good and I’ve been through the vmin tag on ao3 so many times that I’m not sure how I missed this one.

~Admin Haru

[bubblethe]

It’s those secret glances that make working minimum wage in a crowded, sweaty, germ-infested airport all the worthwhile.

Sehun’s girlfriend _____ works at Seoul International Airport and finds her job tiresome and mundane and can’t wait until she graduates to Senior Security Officer. However, before that can happen ___ must endure screaming fangirls, the occasional fanboy, and rude voyagers.

Inspired by the picture above.

[exo-bts-vixx-ficrecdump]

Wanderer’s Teahouse

Author: skeleton_soups

Pairing: J-Hope/V, Jungkook/Jimin

Rating: PG-13

Length: 26,000 words

Summary: Taehyung, a habitual coffee drinker, owns a teashop.

Comments:  Of the BTS ones I’ve posted thus far, this ones actually probably my favourite.  It’s just sweet, and just like tea it warms you up inside.

Click here to read

[ghoulcyfics]

how bright the stars by Twisted_Mirror

⇁ canon, slowburn / teen / chaptered ⇁ based on the prompt ‘cold wasteland nights’ for Ghoulcy Week 2024

[chilligyu]

it's only rain

info: jihoon/reader, angst, pg13 word ct: 300 | warnings: implied major character death summary: jihoon hates the rain the she loved

It was raining.

“It’s only rain.”

And Jihoon hated the rain.

He hated how it spattered against the ground. How it soaked everything it touched. How it didn’t care about anything else except its own selfish existence.

It was raining.

“It’s only rain.”

And she loved the rain.

She loved how it created little rhythms against her window. How it gave life to the beauty of the earth. How it rippled in puddles and made her feel at ease.

Funny, no matter how much he hated rain, he loved watching her dance in it. He loved how much it made her smile. He hated rain, but he loved her. So, a part of him loved the rain too. The part that loved her, loved her because of the rain. He loved that rain gave her life, he loved how it soaked her hair. He loved how it rippled in her eyes, and how it didn’t care that she would gladly exist in its selfishness.

So why.

Why?

“I’m going out.” She informed him nonchalantly, leaning down and kissing his cheek. “Need anything?”

He smiled at the gesture, pulling her in for a peck on the lips. “I just need you.”

She rolled her eyes in amusement. “That’s not what I mean, Jihoon. I’ll be back in a minute, promise.”

“Can’t you stay?” He begged. “Besides, it’s raining.”

“It’s only rain.” She smirked. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

He hated the rain.

He hated the rain.

He hated the rain.

He hated the rain.

He hates the rain.

He hates the rain because she loved it, he hates it because she admired it with every part of her that he held most dear. He hates how it made her feel at ease, how she was never afraid of it. He hates how it spattered against the ground, and how it rippled in puddles. He hates that rain gave her life, and took it from her in the end.

Rain took her from him.

“Is this Lee Jihoon?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry, there was an accident…”

The rain that she loved so much.

Selfish and cruel at the very core of its existence.

It killed her.

“It’s only rain.”

[taekbn]

lost without you

taekbin, pg13 / less than 1k

“ remember how i found you clinging to my words you never doubted it “

the strobe lights start flashing and hongbin's face is pitted in shadow; bright red across his cheeks, then blue; pink in his eyes and his hair tinted purple. he's holding a beer with only a single sip missing, and when he drops it a second later the bottle hits the floor but not hard enough to shatter. instead: a waterfall of foam on taekwoon's shoes, and the reek of alcohol.

hongbin says, 'this place depresses me.'

he says, 'i'm getting the fuck out of here.'

he takes taekwoon's hand and says, 'are you coming with me?' although he already knows the answer.

sometimes hongbin weakly punches his pillow in his sleep: subtle packing sounds of hard knuckle against feathery down, and he: dead to the world, unaware that he's grinding his teeth, and his face: distorted with pain.

he wakes with bruises on his hands and doesn't know where they've come from. he wakes with blood under his nose wondering when it'd happened, asking taekwoon, 'did I get into a fight?' and walking away before hearing an answer.

doesn't matter.

taekwoon wouldn't know what to say anyway.

'something's wrong with me,' hongbin says one night.

'i'm sorry i'm like this,' he says the night after that.

'why, why do you put up with me?' he asks only when he's drunk.

taekwoon tells him the only way hongbin will accept that he loves him. he kisses hongbin's purple knuckles and holds the back of hongbin's palm to the side of his face. he inhales deeply and presses his face into the curve of hongbin's neck. he speaks without words; and hongbin, knowing what every touch means, melts into him with a satisfied hum; feeling whole, he says, for at least the moment.

he used to be the boy who never stopped smiling; giddy on his feet, he'd tiptoe around taekwoon like a playful cub threatening its mother. he'd poke at taekwoon's sides, pull at his hair; he'd laugh so hard tears would stain his cheeks, tinted pink all over.

he used to wake taekwoon up on the nights he couldn't sleep, too hyper to close his eyes, and beg him, 'please, hyung, please stay awake just... for a little bit,' and it'd be after four in the morning when he'd finally roll over with his face tucked neatly into the front of taekwoon's shirt; breathing deeply. at peace.

he's standing in front of the refrigerator with a mix drink in his left hand. it's eleven o'clock in the morning. it's raining.

'i'm a good person, right?' he asks very quietly.

'yes,' taekwoon tells him.

hongbin leaves then, stomping lightly as if annoyed, and when taekwoon asks him what's wrong he says, 'it was a trick question. there are no good people.'

the car is cramped and too small for the both of them, but they make it work.

hongbin lays his head in taekwoon's lap with his feet on the dashboard and his eyes squeezes shut. he isn't quite sleeping, but he could be if he let himself.

he's mumbling when he says, 'your hands are soft,' and there's the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth but it won't form, not fully.

taekwoon leans his head to the back of his seat, touches the side of hongbin's face. he doesn't let his eyes close, wants to watch the rise of hongbin's chest and the way his nose wrinkles when taekwoon touches his neck.

'sometimes,' hongbin says drowsily, 'I feel alright. do you know what I mean?'

taekwoon replies with a soft hum; he doesn't like to speak when hongbin is this way: so close to being happy it's believable that he really could be. so he leans his head down and presses his forehead to hongbin's own, kisses the bridge of his nose. his throat swells shut, painfully, as if trying to choke him when hongbin whispers, 'you make me feel happy.'

the balcony is warm with summer winds and the highway is busy: the blare of traffic, dull; a constant reminder that the world is too full.

hongbin puts his hand on the small of taekwoon's back and he says, 'you know I love you, don't you?'

taekwoon kisses hongbin's temple, feels his pulse on the verge of wild. he kisses hongbin's cheek, warm beneath his mouth. he kisses hongbin's nose, cold despite the heat. he whispers, 'you're the only person who does.'

'we're both kind of fucked up, aren't we?' and there's hope in his voice like maybe he's only now realizing this.

'more than kind of.'

hongbin smiles and it's genuine; taekwoon's heart beats rapidly.

'I love you,' taekwoon says when he takes hongbin's face between his hands. he pretends there isn't a sob caught in his throat as he realizes this is the only truth he knows.

'I love you,' he says again and pulls hongbin's mouth to his own. 'you believe me?'

it's a while before hongbin responds, so long that taekwoon's sure that he won't respond at all.

'I know, hyung,' but he sounds far off; out of reach. staring not at taekwoon but past him, out on the streets; red lights reflected in the deep pools of his eyes. they flicker back to taekwoon's face, and he smiles. 'I know, alright? stop... looking at me like that.'

'like what.'

'like...' bashful laugh, he tries to turn away, but taekwoon knows: hongbin would never pull out of his reach. 'like i'm not fucked up, okay?'

taekwoon's shaking his head in a way that says he doesn't know what to do and his palms are warm with anxiety. he leans his forehead to hongbin's own and simply stays this way: breathing the air hongbin releases, and hoping the tremble of hongbin's lower lip will soon stop.

[chansooficrecs]

Life Will Write The Words

title: Life Will Write The Words

author: jumpthisship

pairing: Chanyeol/Kyungsoo

word count: 17.4k

rating: pg-13

genre: angst, romance

warnings: mentions of violence, gangs

summary: High School AU. Kyungsoo would do just about anything to get Chanyeol, his neighbour and childhood best friend, to stop acting out and doing dumb, illegal shit. But it would be a lot easier if he knew any of the right words to say, and if he didn’t feel like everything is partially his fault.

- Admin Daichi

[hxh-summerexchange]

[HxH Exchange - Gift for popdropsugar] To Take Care

Title: To Take Care Recipient: popdropsugar Pairing: Killua/Gon Rating: PG-13 Warnings:N/A Word Count: 1549 Summary: Gon and Killua take care of each other in the summer heat. Author’s Note: Love you, Rin~! I hope you enjoy this fanfic!

(This is an anonymous exchange–please check the masterlist on or after August 17 for the author’s URL!)

Snip, snip, snip.

The scissors were the only sound the boys could hear in the sparsely decorated hotel room they had rented for the summer. Lined with graying wall paper and only a bed and small table as furniture, it was a simple place for them to rest. The simplicity was a sort of getaway for just the two of them after one long mission after the other. Excitement was something both boys treasured, but being able to take a breath was a sort of home away from home to soak in the alone time they had always wanted.

The night air swung the tinted blue curtains softly, sweeping through Killua’s fingers that held Gon’s hair gently in one hand and swiveling metallic scissors in the other. Gon sat with his hands in his lap, swinging his feet joyfully. A soft hum escaped his smiling lips, keeping in time with his boots. He was not used to Killua’s touch not being accompanied with a shaking fist and blushing face. It was a new change of pace to soak up the happiness subtly, as Killua continued his task of taming Gon’s mane of spikey hair.

“Killua, I never knew you could cut hair,” Gon smiled, trying to tilt his head slightly to see his comrade.

“Keep your head straight unless you want to lose an ear,” Killua replied shortly. ”I don’t know why you wouldn’t think an assassin wouldn’t need to know how to disguise himself. Cutting hair is the basic of the basics.” Killua accompanied his curt answer with a soft warning tug to Gon’s raven strands, pulling him to face forward once again.

“Still, it makes me happy…”

Silence returned between them, a moment of serene silence only disturbed by the breeze that chose to continue to pick up outside their open window. It was a breeze both teenagers were beyond grateful for. Summer had not been kind this year. Record breaking temperatures had left both boys panting from simple walks. Not to mention sun kissed skin had darkened on Gon, but the sun’s leeching waves had left Killua with crippling sunburns that could keep him down for days. Killua blushed slightly remembering this little favor of a summer haircut was thanks to Gon for soothing Killua’s deep burns throughout the last week. There was just something about knowing you were providing relief to someone close…

“Ouch! Killua, you are pulling too hard!”

“Oops… sorry.” Killua loosened his grip on Gon’s locks, stroking them again lightly before beginning the operation again.

“It’s fine.” Gon giggled, lifting his hands slightly over his head. “You couldn’t break me if you tried.”

“Why would I even try, stupid?”

“I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“Oh just shush and let me work already!” Killua grabbed both sides of Gon’s head, forcing him to sit still through his fits of laughter. The touch, although forceful, was also gentle. It was a tiny shadow of reminiscence to Killua. His own touch paled in comparison to Gon’s in his mind.

Killua could still remember the comfort. It always started with soft sighs near his ear in the middle of the night. “Are you alright”s would soon follow echoing through his brain and radiating on his already red cheeks. Killua would never answer Gon’s queries, keeping his pooling blue eyes shut tight. Amber tinged hands covered in green cool aloe, thinking Killua was long past asleep, would taper soon after rubbing softly but deliberately across Killua’s back. The act left Killua’s heart thumping and mind racing. It was embarrassing for Killua to be so entrusted to one individual. Allowing someone else to clean his wounds, minor or not, was not something he would normally permit. Gon was special though, very special.

Just how special was reflected in Killua approaching Gon on his own and offering to trim up Gon’s mane. Gon had thick jet black hair that absorbed the sunlight almost as quickly as Killua’s skin. The sweat that ran down his tanned neck and head rushes that came and went suddenly were obvious to the cat-like senses of the ex-assassin. Killua knew well how stubborn Gon could be about his own maintenance, though, no matter how well Gon tried to hide it. So after a minor struggle over the scissors, Killua had the boy sitting in his capable but slightly shaking hands.

….

A few more snips and Killua smiled his own toothy grin before playfully shoving Gon out of his chair.

“You are all done!”

“Geez, Killua, you don’t have to be so rough!”

“Rough is all I know how to be” Killua smirked, placing the scissors on a nearby table and leaned back on his hands. He was proud of his work and felt the debt sliding off of him along with the night air.  

“Is that so?” Gon said blankly before charging forward.

Killua barely had a second to react before his back was pressed hard against the table supporting him, his hands collapsing behind him from the force of the shove. Quickly Gon moved his own hands to cover Killua’s, pinning him in place. Killua’s lashes fluttered in confusion before he met Gon’s eyes seconds later. Amber globes hovered above him with a piercing stare, as a few left over snippets of freshly cut hair fell onto Killua’s surprised face.

“You didn’t seem so tough when you let me take care of you,” the tone in Gon’s voice, seemingly joking at first, was more questioning than a statement. It was a leeway for Killua to deny if he wished. It was in that instant that he realized what a fool he had truly been. All the nights Gon’s hands had laid on his skin Gon knew. Gon knew that Killua had pressed his eye lids to the breaking point trying to pretend he couldn’t feel the tenderness of someone else. Gon knewthe reason he approached him, shyly mussing his own white locks asking to cut Gon’s hair. No wonder he hadn’t put up that much of a fight…And even now Gon was giving him the chance to deny it all for his own fragile ego. He really was a special one.

Killua blinked, averting his gaze from his companion as much as possible. He didn’t want to feel so see-through at the moment. Or ever for that matter. Or did he? Swallowing hard, the white haired boy once again turned his own line of vision to Gon’s eagerly waiting eyes.

“S-so? What of it?”

“It’s a nice change. We should take care of each other more often.”

“Idiot.”

“What?” Gon seemed almost hurt at Killua’s sarcastic words at such a crucial and sentimental moment.

“What I am saying is… We take care of each other all the time.” He gulped, shifting uncomfortably under Gon’s weight “You know… by just… er… being together.”

Not used to words flowing like miniature rivers from his mouth, Killua quickly dammed them up with a bite to his lower lip and another averted gaze.

“Do you mean that?” A whisper. A curious, confused whisper from Gon pierced through Killua’s heart faster than any projectile Killua had ever witnessed and left him stunned. Silence fell like a storm between them, a stark contrast from the light rain of silence they had felt earlier. Everything suddenly felt stuffier, suffocating. With enough of a push Killua had the strength to push Gon off him and run, escape the questioning gaze and his own fears. Still, he laid there silent.

One minute.

Two.

Pressing his wrists against Gon’s pressured hands, Killua broke free just enough to wrap his arms around Gon’s neck. It was his turn to apply some pressure and break the space between them. Surprised himself, Gon didn’t fight the hug from enveloping him like a warm blanket.

Pink lips found their way to Gon’s ear, quivering as the dam broke into pieces.

“Of course I mean it. I’ve never felt more taken care of in my life.” Killua tightened the hug, pulling Gon close enough to smell his shampoo before getting lost in his freshly cut strands. “You should know that.”

Gon buried his face in Killua’s welcoming neck, feeling at home.

Creak.

“Wha-?”

Both boys blinked as the table caved underneath them, forcing them apart and into a pile of splinters. Scrambling to their feet, Gon burst out in a fit of laughter.

“Hahahaha! You should of seen your face, Killua!”

“You should see yours! Are you… crying?”

“No! I just must of hit my head when we fell.”

“If anyone would survive a knock to the head it would be you.”

“Hey!”

After a second both young hunters were rolling in laughter, tears streaming down both their faces from the sheer silliness of the other.

Raising a finger, Killua caught a tear at the edge of Gon’s eye, wiping it away and onto the floor to join the rest of Gon’s left over hair. Tracing his fingers up the side of his face, he stopped momentarily on his forehead, flicking it.

“Hey! That hurts! Killu—“

The burning sensation from earlier was replaced seconds later with Killua’s lips pressed to Gon’s forehead.

“Wha..?”

“Just me taking care of you.” Killua smiled shyly before turning away on his heel. “Now help me clean this place up!”

[galaxxiv]

(hyukbin) good boys

pairing: hongbin/hyuk rating: pg-13 word count: 1,416w author: a_pu_nk

hongbin is the only one in the class getting a better mark than sanghyuk.

[exo-bts-vixx-ficrecdump]

Midnight Dreamers

Author: ghuns

Pairing: Suga/Jimin

Rating: PG-13

Length: 14,000 words

Summary: Soulmates. They're something vague and the only clues to them lie within your dreams.

Comments:  Everyone has a soulmate that they can only glimpse in their dreams.  Short and cute.

Click here to read

[chilligyu]

info: platonic wonwoo/reader, teen, college au genre: angst | word ct: 1.5k warnings: implied past suicide summary: he was sick of being what everyone else wanted him to be, but he didn't even know how to be himself. she would be the one to finally teach him something worthwhile.

“You may begin.”

And thus began a unique symphony. The sound of test booklets being flipped, of pencils scratching down answers. Of students nervously tapping their fingers at their desks, of a tyrannical professor circling the class. Of seconds ticking by, and of one stubborn student snoring quietly in the corner.

Jeon Wonwoo.

He was sitting in the back of the class, headphones in his ears, his hoodie pulled over his eyes, and his arms crossed over his chest as he slept. His classmates offered him sparing glances, unsure if they should try to wake him. But—no one did. No one ever did. Everyone was completely content to let him fail the test. If he was so determined to throw his future away, who were they to stop him?

“Mr Jeon?” His professor asked with a coy smirk. “Care to join the rest of the class?”

Wonwoo didn’t even open his eyes. “Not really.”

“You do realize that you pay to go to school, right?” She questioned, smug amusement clear in her tone. “I get paid regardless of how well you do.”

“Good for you.” He snorted, pulling his hood down even further.

She shook her head at him in fake disappointment. “Such a waste of potential. To think, Jeon Wonwoo, the piano prodigy, can’t even pass a simple introduction to music theory class.”

“Fuck off.” He hissed through his teeth.

This woman makes my blood boil.

She snorted, feeling as though she’d won. “All this talk of Composer Jeon’s son attending our small university with absolutely nothing to show for it. Your parents must be proud.”

Without another word, Wonwoo grabbed his bag and stormed out of the room.

Fuck her. He swore to himself as he climbed the stairs to the roof. Fuck her, fuck my parents, fuck this place, fuck everything!

Throwing the door open, the cool autumn air swirled around him and he suddenly felt at ease. He was finally free. Free of the absurd expectations placed on him, free from the pressure that was crushing him, and free from the world that told him how to act, how to think, how to be. He closed his eyes, a small smile creasing his face. Then he fumbled through his pockets looking for his lighter.

“Jeon Wonwoo, what is this?”

“It’s a cigarette, mom.”

“You’re smoking? You have got to be kidding me.”

“Mom—it’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal? Not a big—you don’t get to decide what’s a big deal. No son of mine will be caught dead smoking a cigarette!”

“Mom—”

“You really don’t think about anyone other than yourself. What if the press got wind of this? Think of the scandal! You’re still in high school! Do you want me to look like a bad mother? Do you?”

“You already do.” He muttered to himself, lighting up a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “Fucking bitch.”

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

Wonwoo turned abruptly, startled by the sudden intrusion. At first, he thought it might be a teacher, but standing by the door was just some girl. Just another annoyance. Just someone else questioning everything he did. At least this one he could ignore, and he did. He turned up his music and headed over to the edge of the roof.

“Hey!” She laughed, jogging up to his side. “I was just kidding!”

He rolled his eyes, pulling out one of his ear buds. “Great, now leave me alone.”

She let loose a low whistle. “Yikes. Who put you in a bad mood?”

“A lot of people.” He continued, taking a drag. “Look, take a hint, I’m not in the mood to listen to you lecture me.”

“Okay…” She started with a smile. “Are you in the mood to talk? You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

Wonwoo stuffed one hand in his pocket. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It’s not.” She agreed easily. “But I can speak from experience, nothing good comes from bottling it all up inside.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” He practically growled at her, his frustration rising. “You don’t even know me.”

She shrugged. “What’s that got to do with anything? Can’t I care about someone I don’t know?”

A humourless chuckle bubbled past his lips. “In my experience, people who know me don’t even care about me.”

“Then a change of pace is just what the doctor ordered!” She exclaimed. “Just tell me what’s eating you, maybe I can help.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I doubt it.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “C’mon, try me. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Exhaling, he decided to give it a shot, because she had a point.

“All my life I’ve played the piano.” He started. “My mother is a famous cellist, my father’s a famous pianist, it was safe to assume that I had some sort of musical talent. And I do, I just—have you ever done something for so long that you just feel compelled to continue?”

She nodded. “Definitely. It’s the only thing you’ve known.”

He took a drag from his cigarette. “Exactly. So, I went to college to play the piano, like my dad. That was the big plan my parents had for me. But—it’s not what I want to do.”

“What do you want to do?” She asked. “Something other than music?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I love music, I’m just not big on the performing end of it. I’d much rather produce than be on stage.”

“Then why don’t you?” She continued, like it was that simple.

“My mom would probably disown me.” He chuckled. “All of those classes, all that money, she would see it as a waste. Some days I feel more like an investment to her and less like her son.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her wince. “Wow, that’s rough.”

“You’re telling me.” He agreed, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it off the roof. “Shit sucks.”

She nodded in understanding. “I feel you, I really do. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Doesn’t change the fact that I do.”

“Why settle for that?” She asked. “Why not do what you want? I say to hell with her plan! You’ve got your own dreams and desires, aspirations and what not, she’s got no business telling you what to do.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “You clearly haven’t met my mother.”

“That’s true.” She conceded. “But you haven’t met my father, sounds like they’d make quite the pair.”

“Did you ever rebel against him?” Wonwoo asked.

Sadly, she shook her head. “No, I never did. Wish I had though, my life would’ve been a lot different if I just mustered up the courage to say “dad, I want to be a singer, not a classic violinist, please support me”. Instead, I suffered in silence.”

“So you’ve really got no room to talk.” He scoffed. “You’re just as hopeless as me.”

It was barely noticeable, but a small yet sad smile creased her face. “That’s true. Only—there’s still hope for you. You’ve still got a chance.”

“What do you mean—”

He stopped suddenly, shocked to see her climbing up onto the ledge of the roof.

“What are you doing?” He asked in horror, reaching out for her. “Don’t—don’t do it. It’s not hopeless, I promise you, you can still be a singer. There’s still time.”

She offered him a look he couldn’t quite describe. “Sadly, my time’s up Wonwoo. Follow your dreams. Don’t be like me.”

Then, she jumped. It was so sudden, so unexpected, he hesitated for just a second. When he rushed to grab her, to save her from herself, she was gone. He was too late. Reluctantly, he looked out over the edge. He expected to see something that would haunt him for years to come—but she wasn’t there. There wasn’t a trace of her anywhere. Confused, he turned back around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, hoping that his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Sadly, my time’s up Wonwoo.”

He swore that he was going crazy, because for the life of him he was sure that he never told her his name.

“Follow your dreams.”

He clutched his heart in agony.

“Don’t be like me.”

[chansooficrecs]

(ELE)Mental

title: (ELE)Mental

author: jumpthisship

pairing: Chanyeol/Kyungsoo

word count: 74k

rating: pg-13

genre: comedy, angst, fluff, slice of life (?)

warnings: mental illness, discussions of anxiety

summary: Internet Fanboys AU. Park Chanyeol desperately wants to recruit twitter fanartist Kyungsoo into his crew of gay fanboys. The obvious way to do this is by confessing his love for him every day.

- Admin Daichi